


The One

by gabrielhugh



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Fluff, Journal writing, M/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielhugh/pseuds/gabrielhugh
Summary: Elio Perlman was told when he was a child that he would get to contact his soulmate on his eighteenth birthday. The tradition of being gifted the journal with which you could communicate with your person was one which had been around for many generations before Elio's parents. The eighteenth birthday was, therefore, often one of the most exciting days for anybody, and Elio would be no exception.





	The One

 Elio was always told that there were two things in life you could be absolutely certain about: 1. You will die one day. And 2. You will meet, or be given the chance to meet, your soulmate. There was, of course, a select number of people who refused to believe in soulmates. They thought that a conversation through a journal was not enough to prove that someone was meant for you. They thought that the idea of having one person you were destined to spend your life with was sad and boring. Elio thought it was perfect. Romantic and no questions asked. No awkward “what are we?” stage, because they knew what they were from the get-go. They were made for each other, and that knowledge could form the basis of a very strong relationship.

On the approach to his eighteenth birthday, he had practically begged his parents to give him his present early, desperate to get to know who his soulmate would be. Of course, they refused to give it to him, so Elio let his mind wander as he painted himself a mental image of who it could be that he was destined to love. Whether they were male or female was irrelevant to Elio, but he knew he wanted them to be older than him. If they were older then they would already have their journal and he would not have to wait before getting to know them. Ultimately, he wanted them to be as excited to meet him as he was to meet them – he would hate it if he had a soulmate who did not believe in it. Part of him dreaded what he would do if their handwriting was completely illegible or if they wrote in a language he did not know, but stories like this were few and far between and almost always had happy endings regardless.

When it finally came, the morning of Elio’s birthday was a bright one. The year was moving between spring and summer, flowers covering much of the ground outside and fruit growing on almost every tree. The day began early, with sunrise waking Elio at 5:45 am. Thinking about the day that lay ahead of him, he felt like a child on Christmas morning. He forced himself to lay quietly in his bed until 6 am so that waking his parents up would be more reasonable. He spent that fifteen minutes wondering what he would write in it first. Should he jump straight in and tell them how excited he is to finally get to speak to them? Or would it be safer to simply introduce himself? What kind of information did you have to provide for your soulmate? Did they need enough to form a mental image you? Or could he just say hello? He pondered the questions over and over for so long that it was 6:03 when he allowed himself to wake his parents.

He walked past their room and held the handle, stopping himself and grinning for a moment. This was it. He was finally going to get to talk with his soulmate. He pushed down on the handle and threw himself into the room loudly, acting as though he had fallen and then immediately offering his apologies. The noise startled his parents awake and they gave him a look that showed they were not buying into the idea that waking them was an accident, but they were smiling nonetheless. Elio gave them a childish grin, saying good morning and kissing them on the cheek one after the other. Giddily, he began going on about how nice of a day it was and how he wondered what would be for breakfast. His parents entertained his ramblings for a little while before taking the opportunity when Elio paused for breath to announce “you can get it after breakfast and not a second before.” Elio almost cheered, knowing that this meant he was less than a couple of hours from speaking to potentially the most important person of his life. Quickly kissing them both on the cheek again, he headed back to his room to get dressed for the day. 

“I remember the first time I contacted your mother,” Elio’s father spoke over breakfast, looking at the woman with a gaze of utter adoration. “We spent weeks doing nothing but writing backwards and forwards. So much that when my parents finally met her they begged of us to finally put an end to writing to each other.” She was looking at him with the same look in her eyes before she looked over at Elio and took his hand in hers comfortingly. “Meeting her was the best thing that happened to me. You, Elio, are the only thing that could rival your mother in bringing me happiness.” Elio smiled at his father and then over at his mother. He could only hope that contacting his soulmate would be as successful for him as it was for his parents. Theirs was the love story of the century, but there were plenty of horror stories out there too. There were people who wrote in their diary and simply never got a response back, or people who fell more and more in love with the person at the other end of the page until one day they simply stopped getting a reply. Elio dreamed of a love story like that of his parents.

“I can only hope I’m as lucky as you two,” he admitted to them, taking another bite of his breakfast as he did so.

“You will be, Elio. Because you deserve to be.” This came from his mother, who was looking at him with so much love that he felt for a moment that no matter what happened he would be OK. Immediately after speaking, she excused herself from the table and headed into the house. Somehow, Elio thought nothing of this as he ate his food and worried about all of the things that could possibly go wrong.

Elio had become so lost in his thoughts that he practically jumped out of his seat when a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. Looking around, he saw his mum with her lips curved into a smile and a book resting in her hand. She placed it on the table in front of Elio, along with a pen. “Of course, you do not have to write in it now,” she reassured him, as he looked backwards and forwards from the object, to his mother, and to his father. Noticing there were words on the pen, he picked it up and read “For Elio. May you find that love never leaves you.” Running his finger over the words, he made his decision. 

“I want you to be here with me.” His almost empty plate was disregarded as he picked up the notebook and set it down in front of him. His mother sat back down where she had been for breakfast, and his parents shared a hopeful but confident glance. Elio took a deep breath and opened the journal to the first page. He was shocked to see that there was already something written in it, the handwriting block capitals and faded to almost nothing. It read “Hello” and then, just underneath that in slightly less faded pen, there was “Happy Birthday”. Elio looked from his mother to his father, a look of confusion spread over his face.

“Sometimes, your soulmate will get their notebook sooner than you.” His father began to explain. “When they’re older than you, for instance. Or when their parents give in easier than me and your mother. In these cases, whatever they write will stay in the notebook meant for you for a few years. Nobody knows exactly how long but it seems to be around five or six. Of course, with time, the writing fades.” He nods his head towards the writing on the page, which Elio now runs his forefinger over. “Your soulmate already has their notebook.” Elio could not contain his excitement as he realised that one of his wishes had already come true. His soulmate was older than him and they could start communicating immediately.

“What should I write?” He asked in a panicked tone. Suddenly all of his planning fell away, and he did not have a clue where to start. He wished he had a different piece of paper so he could practice his writing and make sure it would not come out messy. Or so he could write potential first messages over and over again. The pen was held tight in his grip in its writing position, hovering just over where he intended to write his message, as he struggled to think of anything satisfactory to write.

“You could just reply,” his mother suggested. “You have been wished a happy birthday and it would be rude not to offer thanks for that.” Somehow, Elio could not remember how to respond to birthday greetings. Shaking his head, he closed the journal and pocketed the pen, announcing that he would head up to his room and think of a message he could send. His parents watch him leave with smiles on their faces, trusting in him to do what had to be done.

In his room, he wondered if he should write a message which would give them some idea of who Elio was. He could write a quick description of himself.

 _Hello. I’m Elio and I’m 18._ Don’t be an idiot, Elio, of course you’re 18. _I’m from Crema, Italy. I like reading but apparently I’m no good at writing anything._

With a heavy sigh he threw the journal onto the bed next to him. He needed something else. For a little while, he wondered what would happen if he simply never wrote something. It seemed like a stupid idea, given that he had waited so long for the opportunity. At that moment, he heard his mother’s voice reading to him. “Is it better to speak or to die?” In the book, the decision was made that it was better to speak, but he never did. Elio did not want that to be him. 

Grabbing the journal and the pen in the same hand, he moved to be sat at his desk. The journal was spread out neatly in front of him, the first page still baring the handwriting of his soulmate. He took a second to build what he could from the writing. The letters where block capitals but not rigidly so, as though it came unnaturally to write in that way. Elio wondered if he should reply in block capitals, too, to make it easier for his person to read. He grabbed a piece of paper that was laying on his desk and picked up the pen, taking a second to get it to sit comfortably in his hand. He practiced writing out the quote in all different variations of his handwriting. The block capitals looked too much like that already in there and he did not want to seem like he was imitating them. The cursive was barely legible. His normal handwriting was easy to read but boring. He thought this was the best option, anyway. Taking a deep breath, he started writing whatever felt right.

_Hi. Thank you! I’ve been excited about this for a long time now._

He dramatically dropped his pen down on top of the journal and threw his head back, running his fingers through his messy curls. Had he sounded stupid? Like a child who does not know what he’s doing? That, he thought, would be accurate. He did not notice it happen, but when he looked back down at the page his writing was gone without a trace, so much so that he had to question himself about whether or not he had actually written the message. It was entirely possible that he had simply imagined it – that was what he had been doing for the past 13 years of his life ever since he found out about it, after all. He opted to believe that he had not imagined it, thinking that writing twice would be worse than having never written at all. And, so, he waited.

No response came.  

The journal stayed open on Elio’s desk as the boy lay face down on his bed, staring into the darkness of his pillow and wondering if he had already messed up any chance he had of being with his soulmate. As time passed, he thought of more and more reasons to blame himself. Had he not wished so hard for his soulmate to be older maybe this would be easier. He could fail to get a response and just assume that they were not yet eighteen. But instead, he had three words to look at. Over and over again. The more he thought about those words the harder it became to remember the ones he had supposedly written himself.

All of a sudden there was a knock on the door. He scrambled to sit up on his bed and, once ready, shouted for them to come in. Marzia opened the door with a grin on her face and a gift in her hand. She immediately ran over to him and hugged him, causing Elio to relax where he had not realised he was tense. Marzia sat down next to him and wished him a happy birthday before excitedly pushing the gift towards him. It was a small box, longer than it was wider. There was a ribbon wrapped around it and formed into a bow the top. There was no label, but a hand-drawn love heart in the corner of the box. 

He pulled at the ribbon to make it fall away, allowing him to lift the lid. Inside sat a pen. It was not as nice as the one from his parents and had no engravings on it. It was simply a pen. Nevertheless, Elio knew its intention and understood the sentiment, so he feigned happiness by pulling Marzia towards him for a hug. When they pulled away again, Marzia looked at the pen Elio had now disregarded next to them on the bed.

“Have you written yet?” She asked when Elio failed to grasp what information she had been trying to get from him with her gift. He glanced over at the journal on the side. 

“No,” he lied. 

“What? You need to!” She got up and grabbed the journal, thrusting it into Elio’s hands. He read the messages already there yet again. Hello. Happy Birthday. There was nothing else. He set the journal down with the pen, not interested in attempting to get a response.  

“It just doesn’t feel right to do it today, y’know? Besides, I think Mum and Dad probably want me spending some time with them and not with my nose stuck in some journal.” He got up from the bed and offered his hand to Marzia. She took it without question, still smiling, and he led them out to his backyard. The topic of the journal was dropped quickly, making Elio feel thankful. They picked fruit from the trees together, their calmness turning into playfulness when Marzia picked the orange Elio had been intending to have. He started chasing her and neither of them could contain laughter when he grabbed her by the waist and stopped her moving any further. He stole the orange back and began to eat it but offered some of the pieces to her. 

Marzia acted as a welcome distraction for Elio for almost the entirety of the rest of the day. When they heard the bell ringing for dinner, Elio made the offer for her to stay but she insisted that she had to go. They shared a final hug before Elio made his way to the table to meet his parents. Once he sat down at the chair between his mother and his father, nobody said anything. They ate their food silently and it was not until Elio threatened to leave that any conversation was started.

“I saw Marzia was here,” his mother stated, as though she was surprised about it. Elio gave her a confused look.

“She wanted to give me a birthday present.”

“Is she eighteen yet?” His father asked now, as though simply an extension of his mother as they shared the same thought process.

“Yes.” Elio was still not sure where the conversation was going. He was attempting to be cautious of fuelling whatever it was they were thinking.

“And has she met hers?” It suddenly became clear to Elio what his parents were insinuating. They rarely mentioned anything explicitly, but it was always clear that they had expected Marzia to be Elio’s person.

“Yes, she has.” He lied. Marzia was yes to receive a response from what she first wrote in her journal three months ago, but Elio would have recognised her handwriting anywhere. His response caused his parents to stop asking about her, which was all that he had intended to do. An awkward silence followed, in which Elio took the opportunity to tell them about the gift he had received from Marzia. He emphasised that he much preferred the pen given to him by them, but that it was a nice thought from her to consider giving him a pen. Tradition stated that family were the people to provide a person with their journal and a pen to write in it with, and Marzia’s gift meant a lot about how much their friendship was valued.

“She is very nice,” his father commented, nodding solemnly. Elio recognised that his parents were disappointed that Marzia was not his soulmate, but he had known that all of his life. Their relationship more resembled that of a brother and sister than of a pair of soulmates.

“Yeah, I’m lucky to have such a good friend.” Elio hoped this would put an end to the conversation finally. It had been some hours since he first wrote in his journal and something within him was drawing him unavoidably closer to it. He wondered if this was a feeling people got when they had an unread note. Gently laying down his cutlery, he thanked his parents for everything end headed up to his room, walking a little bit faster than usual.

He swiftly grabbed the journal and his pen and lay down on his bed, pressing the journal into his chest and he thought about what he wanted to be there when he opened it. Did he want a long paragraph, detailing the life experiences of his soulmate? Did he want a simple introduction so that he could ask more questions? Did he want confirmation that the excitement was mutual? Whatever it was he could think of before opening it, he told himself, would be nothing compared to what was actually written. He would read words actually written by his person, and he was sure they were only written moments ago. Suddenly, he was too excited to hold back any longer.

**You’re finally here!**

Elio’s heart began to race. The message held connotations of excitement but also of a long wait. He wondered how much older than him his soulmate was and whether or not they were mad about having to wait so long. Elio was mad about waiting the initially eighteen years, this person had to wait extra time for Elio to turn eighteen, too.

_Sorry. Have I kept you waiting?_

He bit his pen and stared at the paper, waiting impatiently for those words to appear. 

 **Oh only four years, nothing major.**

Elio giggled aloud. He was funny. Funny, or genuinely a little bit mad about being kept waiting. But something told Elio that he was, in fact, just funny. 

 _Well I’ve had to wait eighteen years so who’s really struggling here._  

They were joking around with each other already and everything felt natural. Part of him wondered if this was how his parents had felt when they first wrote to each other. Had it been an instant connection like this, or did it develop over time? Would this relationship only get better over time, or would they only become more awkward and uncertain with each other as they opened up? Elio wanted some certainty that everything would go well.

 **By that logic I’ve had to wait twenty two years. I’m still worse off than you.**

Elio struggled to think of a witty comeback to this, so settled for an introduction.

_Well I’m here now. And I’m Elio. Nice to meet you._

**Hello, Elio. I’m Oliver.**

Oliver. His soulmate was Oliver. Elio’s cheeks were starting to hurt now from smiling so much, and the easy flow of the conversation halted. Elio wanted to shout his name from the rooftops to see if he would get a reply. Instead, he settled for closing the journal and running downstairs with it. His parents were sat together in the living room now, their fingers entwined on the sofa between them. They were silently reading their own books, separate but still together, before Elio literally skidded into the room.

“His name is Oliver,” he announced, holding the journal up as though it was a trophy. His parents looked over at him, set down their books and smiled, as he had known they would. There was a large amount of stigma surrounding people whose soulmate was the same gender as them, despite this being completely uncontrollable. Everybody knew that whoever you got, there was nothing you could do about it. Despite this, they deemed people with same-sex Others as “weird” or “unfortunate”. Luckily, Elio’s parents had always explicitly expressed that they believed this concept was ridiculous. When they first taught Elio about the journal, they told him there and then that whether he was destined to be with a man or a woman, they did not care. They simply hoped that he was destined to be happy.

“That’s wonderful!” his father stated, edging further away from his wife to allow space for Elio to sit between them. Elio did so comfortably, and they looked over his shoulder as he opened his journal again.

“He is older, like you said. He’s twenty-two.” Elio knew that they could read this perfectly for themselves but was too excited not to talk. As they sat there, another message appeared.

**Is that a problem?**

Elio panicked. He had left the pen he was previously using in his bedroom, so now suddenly began to frantically search the living room for something to write with. His father calmly pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to Elio, who thanked him dearly and resumed his position on the sofa.

_No, not a problem at all._

Elio frantically wrote, hoping it would still be legible. He looked between his mother and father for some indication of what to write next, but all they offered was reassuring smiles. So, he wrote:

_Oliver is a lovely name._

His mother, still watching over his shoulder, failed to hold back an affectionate chuckle. Elio swung his head around to look at her, wondering what could possibly have caused her to laugh.

“I don’t think he’s concerned that you don’t like his name, dear. I think he’s concerned that you’re upset he’s male,” she explained gently, her fingers playing with Elio’s hair. Elio bowed his head, watching the paper and waiting for a response to either confirm or deny what his mother had suggested. When nothing came, Elio took his pen to the paper again.

_I’m really happy to meet you, Oliver._

As though he had been waiting, Oliver’s response came quickly this time. 

**I’m really happy to meet you too.**

Elio stared at the words for some time, a huge smile on his face. He felt as though he was certain they would make something of this, and he could not wait to get to know Oliver. For now, he was unsure how to respond. Instead of writing anything out, he doodled a smiley face on the page and then, more cautiously, a smaller love heart next to it. As the ink that Elio had pressed into the page faded into nothing, a small love heart next to where Elio’s had seeped into the page now. Elio thought he could sit and watching Oliver doodle for the rest of his life.


End file.
